Coward Dragonborn
by Xyzo
Summary: Dragonborn is a coward!
1. Chapter 1

**Coward Dragonborn**

You should have acted.

They're already here.

The Elder Scrolls told of their return.

Their defeat was merely a delay.

Til the time after Oblivion opened.

When the sons of Skyrim would spill their own blood.

But no one wanted to believe,

Believe they even existed.

And when the truth finally dawns,

It dawns in fire.

But there's one they fear...

Or not. I mean, have you seen that man? He's such a coward.

**QQQ**

Hjoldir was a typical Nord. He was tall, he was intimidating and he was strong. Always carrying an axe whenever he went, he was something of a legend. It wasn't a wonder after all because he had slain hordes of trolls, cleared many lairs of vicious bears and beaten squads of arrogant Thalmor soldiers.

However, he wasn't the dragonborn. No. That honour belonged to someone else. Someone who wasn't actually honourable. It was Hamvir the Coward. He was thin and frail, being quite a disgrace to his family since he had never wielded a sword in battle.

Right now, he was standing in the mountains with the border between Skyrim and Cyrodiil straight in front of him. He was indecisive as anxiety was gnawing at his thoughts, controlling his snapping movements. At one time, he extended his hand, biting his lips in fear, but then he retracted it and began stepping around anxiously.

Yet why? What was his problem? What was making him so unsure and confounded? It was a simple dilemma. A sweet roll was lying there on the ground, but sadly it was on the other side of the border.

He felt an urge to satiate his appetite, yet he was afraid that venturing past the imaginary line would mean a transgression that would cost him greatly. It was so close yet so far. A tasty treat that was almost within his reach.

Come on, he thought to himself, what could possibly go wrong? Who would be a witness to this little wrongdoing? It seemed that he finally managed to convince his guilty self to give in to his needs.

He did it. He set foot on the other side, laughing deep in his mind that he was a rebel that broke the law. Yet just as he was leaning for the sweet roll, four Imperial soldiers emerged out of nowhere, yelling like angry forsworn.

He regretted his decision instantly, but there was no time for being bitter. In fact, there wasn't even time to defend. Not that he would have done so anyway. They knocked him unconscious with a single blow.

**QQQ**

When Hamvir woke up, he found himself sitting on a carriage with his hands tied. It didn't prevent him from attempting to scratch an aching spot on his head. It was where he had been hit.

"Hey, you! You're finally awake," a muscular man called Ralof spoke. He was the typical image of a Nord. Long fair hair, well-built and strong arms. "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."

He was seated opposite Hamvir, closer to the steed that was towing the cart through a snowy landscape.

"Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and be halfway to Hammerfell," the thief, Lokir, that sat besides the able-bodied man voiced his opinion, then turned towards Hamvir. "You there. You and me – we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the empire wants."

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief," Ralof objected.

"Shut up back there!" snarled the Imperial soldier that rode the horse.

"And what's wrong with him, huh?" Lokir wondered, his eyes laid upon a gagged individual in a cloak seated next to the coward.

"Watch your tongue. You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion," Lokir was surprised before coming to a grim realization. "But if they've captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits," Ralof replied in a sad tone.

"Sovngarde?" Hamvir joined in the discussion, up until now frightened to the point of being unable to respond. "Does this mean we will die?"

"General Tullius. Sir, the headsman is waiting," spoke a distant voice, implying that their fate was indeed bleak. They were approaching the gates of Helgen.

"So it's true? But I don't want to die!" Hamvir lamented aloud, prompting Ralof to give him a stare of contempt.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me," Lokir despaired.

The strong Nord only shook his head in disbelief, but then as they entered the settlement, his interest was piqued by the sight of a weathered Imperial debating with an Altmer. "Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governor," he said with disgust. "And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this."

"I don't care if any elves have anything to do with this, I just wanted a sweet roll!" Hamvir protested. "Just because it was on the other side of the border, I have to die? That's so unfair!"

Ralof placed his tied hands flat across his forehead. It was too much for him. The Stormcloak warrior simply couldn't believe he had met such a man, if Hamvir could be called that at all.

The coward, however, didn't care what the opinion of him was. He wished to live even if it meant being heralded a craven. His heartbeat was uncontrollable as he tried to figure out a way out of this mess. Slow time, make people look away or something. His ideas were mad though and none of them would work. He was so preoccupied with the fear of his death that he didn't realize they were almost there.

"Why are we stopping?" Lokir asked, his voice full of fright.

"Why do you think? End of the line," Ralof replied as the carriage came to a halt in a small courtyard with a chopping block nearby and a tower behind it. There was the headsman, a hulking brute wielding a bloodied axe.

How many heads had been severed from the bodies of men and women by his hands? How many had lost their lives to his murderous swing? Hamvir gulped and it felt like he was ingesting a poison.

All the prisoners rose up apart from him, but he quickly caught up with their example, still being a fearing man that hoped luck would shine upon him somehow.

"No!" the thief shouted as he hopped off the cart. "Wait! We're not rebels!"

"Please! I just wanted a sweet roll!" the cowardly Nord added.

"Face your deaths with some courage, you two," Ralof reprimanded them.

"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!" Lokir was persistent in his pleas. However, Hamvir was silent, terror having taken over his soul and paralyzing him.

"Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time," barked an annoying female Imperial officer that was in front of the prisoners.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Widhelm," Hadvar spoke. He was a soldier of the Empire standing besides the woman. The gagged man complied with the order and walked off to the headsman.

"Ralof of Riverwood," Hadvar continued and the warrior Nord followed. "Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No!" the thief suddenly shouted, running away like a rabbit. "I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!"

"Halt!" the Imperial officer yelled after him, turning to her subordinates swiftly afterwards. "Archers!"

A single arrow pierced the runaway's back, cleaving through like a knife through butter, causing him to drop down motionless.

That sight frightened Hamvir. His heart almost jumped out of his chest, his eyes unable to hold the tears anymore.

"Wait. You there, step forward," Hadvar addressed him.

"I'm going to die," the coward whispered to himself, wiping his wet face. He knew he had to conform otherwise he would meet the same fate as Lokir.

"Who are you?" the soldier curiously asked as he observed him with confusion.

"I... I... just wanted a sweet roll," he sobbed, his words muffled by sorrow.

"What?"

"I wanted a sweet roll," he cried like a baby. "A sweet roll. Why do I have to die because of a sweet roll?"

"Whatever. He goes to the block," the Imperial officer replied mercilessly.

"I'm sorry," Hadvar responded with regret. "Follow the Captain, prisoner."

"But..." he protested for the last time, yet did as told. The evil woman then paced towards the chopping block where both soldiers and those sentenced to die were standing.

Amongst them, there were two interesting people though. The Jarl of Windhelm and General Tullius. While the former was gagged and couldn't speak, the latter had the upper hand and wasn't hesitant to exploit it. "Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne. You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos..."

"But I just wanted a sweet roll," Hamvir sobbed, falling to his knees and praying in front of the weathered Imperial.

"By Talos, what an idiot," Ralof couldn't hold his contempt anymore.

"Who is this man? By the divines, off with him!" Tullius responded.

"Please! I don't want to die! Please!" Hamvir pressed on, trying to wrap himself around the general's leg in order to beg for mercy. Yet strong arms grabbed him from behind, dragging him away.

Suddenly, a distant roar reached the ears of everyone present, prompting one of the Imperials to wonder. "What was that?"

"Please, please! Why do I have to die for a sweet roll?" the craven screamed.

"It's nothing. Carry on and behead that Nord before I get a headache."

"Yes, General Tullius!" the officer replied as the brutish hands pushed the thin Nord to the chopping block.

"No!" he shouted when he saw the cold steel floating above him, held in the grasp of the headsman.

Yet then in a twisted weave of fate, a monster emerged from behind remote mountains, swooping in with enormous speed and landing on top of the tower. It caused a tremor that knocked down the headsman as well as the soldiers that were keeping him pinned to the ground. It was a dragon.

Chaos ensued afterwards when the beast thundered, toppling everyone present. It all happened so fast. Towers and walls were crumbling as the creature ravaged Helgen, setting fire to anything made of wood and breaking everything else.

"Get up! Come on! The gods won't give us another chance!" Ralof yelled at Hamvir, who immediately located the strong Nord.

The craven knew that it was trouble. He rose up and darted towards the fair-haired man, who rushed through a nearby door that led to a tower still standing despite the besieged the settlement was caught in a fiery storm.

Hamvir followed in and the insurgent swiftly closed the door shut, lending them the much desired respite. The coward was terribly afraid, but he was alive. Speechless and shocked, but alive.

"Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing? Could the legends be true?" Ralof wondered, prompting the frail individual to glance around and realize that the leader of the rebellion was next to him.

"Legends don't burn down villages," Ulfric Stormcloak commented, but then another of the dragon's thundering shouts echoed throughout whole Helgen, causing the place to tremble. "We need to move, now!"

Those words woke Hamvir up from his confusion. Adrenaline was pumped into his veins when he recognized that he was struggling for survival.

"Up through the tower, let's go!" Ralof yelled and they both rushed upstairs where an insurgent was instantly killed by the beast that crushed the walls with a mere touch of its head.

"Get back!" the fair-haired Nord barked as he grabbed Hamvir's arm and pulled him back to the stairs. In a second, the creature bathed the room in scorching fire. They were lucky to be far enough, but traces of heat reached them nevertheless.

Thankfully, the dragon didn't seem to be interested in carrying on with razing the tower and flew away, giving them the chance to continue with their escape. They got to the newly created opening in the walls that allowed them to glance outside and witness the decimated Helgen from above. The once proud settlement was reduced to rubble and debris, yet there still were soldiers that battled the evil monster despite the insurmountable odds.

"See the inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going!"

"Are you mad? It's too far! I'll break a leg!"

"By Talos, just do it!" Ralof shouted, but figured out that the coward wouldn't do a thing and thus decided to push him.

"Whaaaa..." Hamvir screamed as he fell, crashing into the weakened wooden floor. It was a miracle that he landed without fracture.

However, there was no time to waste. With the dragon flying around and incinerating everything that moved, he realized that he was an easy target and had to get out as fast as possible.

He got up and climbed down from the first floor to the ground. He spotted the soldier that had called the prisoners out, now standing by an elderly individual along with a child. He wanted to join, but then he felt frightened that the man in service of the Legion wouldn't hesitate to kill him.

But where was he supposed to go? The beast let itself be known once again as it hurtled dangerously near Hamvir. It made him rise up and rush to the warrior, ignoring his previous fears.

"Still alive, prisoner?" the soldier spoke upon noticing the coward. "Keep close to me if you want to stay that way."

"Yes, please get me out of here!"

"Gunnar, take care of the boy, I have to find General Tullius and join the defence," the man addressed the elder.

"Gods guide you, Hadvar," was the response as the soldier rushed out with the craven in his steps.

Together they reached a narrow path with a wall on their left and a house on their right, providing them with cover. Suddenly, the dragon landed nearby, sending flames to all sides. The monster was so near, Hamvir could see its right wing resting merely a few inches above his hair. Thankfully, it lifted off shortly afterwards and headed out, preparing for another attack.

"Quickly, follow me!" the soldier yelled as he hurried towards remains of burnt down buildings, navigating the maze they created with the coward behind. They entered a spacious courtyard where lots of Imperials were gathered, some wounded, some trying to shoot the beast and some running around in confusion.

"Hadvar! Into the keep soldier, we're leaving!" shouted none other than General Tullius.

"It's you and me, prisoner. Stay close!"

"Alright! Alright! Just help me!" Hamvir screamed as he accompanied his saviour out in the open, passing through an arch in the walls. They arrived at an entrance to the Helgen fortress, meeting with the fair-haired Nord.

"Ralof, you damned traitor! Out of my way!" Hadvar snarled angrily upon the sight of the Stormcloak.

"We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time," the rebel answered, putting the coward before a dilemma. Who to follow? As both soldiers rushed towards a distinct door, he had to decide.

The choice was obvious though. The Imperials had wanted to execute him. What if they resumed their effort once they reached safety? No. He wasn't running for his life only to fall into a trap. That is why he chose to go with Ralof.

They entered a circular room with tapestries symbolizing the empire. Across the place, there was a stuffed head of a deer on the wall and a small table below. Besides the latter was a corpse of a well-built rebel soldier. The insurgent hurried to it, stopping just by to check whether there was anything he could have done to help his comrade. He couldn't, however. The man was dead.

"We'll meet again in Sovngarde, brother," Ralof spoke as he knelt in respect, then rose up and turned back to Hamvir. "Look's like we're the only ones who made it. That thing was a dragon. No doubt."

"And it almost killed me!" the craven commented, trying to shake off the shock.

The Stormcloak sighed. "We better get moving. Come here. Let me see if I can get those bindings off."

The thin Nord complied as the rebel unsheathed his dagger. Yet the sight of cold steel suddenly made Hamvir uneasy. "Are you sure what you are doing?"

"Absolutely. Now stand still."

"But what if you miss? What if you hit me?"

"By Talos, will you stop whining?" Ralof was annoyed, but with a single swing of his weapon, the ties were cut into two and the feeble man was free. "There you go. You might as well take Gunjar's gear. He won't be needing it anymore."

For a moment, Hamvir glanced at the strapping Nord, finding it unlikely that the blue leather armour would fit him.

"His gear? But he is at least twice as large as I am!"

"It's better than nothing. You'll just tighten the belt some more and you'll be good to go. Now come on, we don't have much time."

"But my prisoner clothes are alright!"

"They might be, but if someone swings a greatsword at you, they won't protect you at all."

"Swings a sword? Gods... no! Ralof, please, help me!"

"Calm down. Just grab the gear and you'll fine."

Hamvir was shaken and shocked, but that wore off as he dressed up. The armour was hanging loose on him, making it hard for him not to trip, yet he was convinced that he was safe. However, he was terribly wrong.

"It's the Imperials! Take cover!" Ralof warned the coward, who suddenly felt threatened again. Behind the nearest gate that led into another section of the keep, there were two legionnaires marching towards them.

"Oh no! Oh no!" Hamvir cried in terror. He should have gone with Hadvar. He should have escaped alone. Now they would find him. They would chop his head off. A fate that he worked so hard to avoid.

"Get that gate open!" shouted a commanding female voice. It was familiar to the craven. It was the officer that had overseen his failed execution!

Panic took over him. He didn't care that his Stormcloak friend readied himself for an ambush. He didn't care that his mad running around would reveal them. He just wanted to get out. That is why he reached the entrance and opened the door.

Yet the sight before him scared him to the bone. There was the dragon standing in the courtyard, facing the keep with its eyes locked firmly on the Nord and striking terror into his heart. It drew breath, preparing to incinerate the man.

Instinctively, he jumped aside at the very last second, dodging the fiery inferno. But the Imperials that had entered the room in the meantime weren't as lucky. They were caught in the middle of the fire, their shiny armour unable to cover them from being pinned to the wall and burnt to crisp by the oppressing flames.

Thankfully for Ralof, who had been fighting them, he was far enough. Yet now that the dragon paused, he realized that it did so only to reach out with its enormous jaws and chew on them alive.

He swiftly leapt to the entrance and shut it close, lowering a wooden board that prevented anyone outside from forcing their way in. The beast hit the door with all it strength, causing tremor and quake across the fort, but it withheld.

"Quick! Before the dragon brings this whole building down! One of these Imperials surely must have a key to that gate!" Ralof shouted as he pointed towards metal bars that blocked their path.

However, Hamvir rose up from the ground but that didn't mean he recovered from the shock. He was shaking like he was freezing to death, overwhelming fear gnawing deep at his mind.

"Gah... no use!" the fair-haired Nord snarled angrily as he proceeded to search the corpses for a key while the monster tried to barge in again and again. Fortunately for both living men, the rebel found it.

Without saying a word, he reached the gate and unlocked it, rushing inside. Even though the coward was shaken, he was aware that he had to follow if he wanted to stay alive. Together they entered a winding corridor, descending deeper into the keep as a thundering echo resounded behind their backs.

The beast had finally forced its way in. Yet the circular room was devoid of any living soul much to its confusion. It withdrew, not understanding the trickery, using one of its claws to scratch its head in wonder.

Meanwhile, the duo had reached a door that Ralof wished to take despite the apparent noise coming from within. The hallway continued forth, they could have walked that path, Hamvir contemplated silently.

"Wait! What if there are enemy soldiers beyond!" he protested.

"We can take them on," the brave Nord responded fearlessly.

"That's suicide!" the craven objected.

"Grab everything and let's... wait! What is that sound?" echoed a voice from behind the door.

"Oh no! We're dead! We're dead!" the coward cried, panic once again taking over him. He rushed to the stairs without thinking.

"Wait! Where are you going?" Ralof yelled after him, choosing to pursue him.

"Damn it, which way did they go?" the mysterious person from the room cursed as he stood in the Nords' former place.

Not even a minute had passed and the rage of the monstrous being outside caused the ceiling next to the door collapse, preventing anyone from continuing through the corridor and forcing them to venture into the door.

The quake was so overwhelming that it made Hamvir trip and fall over his spacious clothing. Yet it allowed the rebel to catch up and lend him a hand.

"Don't do that again!" he reprimanded the coward as he helped him get back to his feet.

"Alright," the craven agreed reluctantly.

"Good. Now let's go!" Ralof commanded and the duo resumed their route, spotting bodies of two Imperial soldiers buried beneath the newly created rubble.

They went through the door and entered a vast place filled with barrels and crates. However, they had lost so many precious minutes that there was no moment to scrounge for supplies. They continued instead, leaving the room and emerging into another hallway that led them further down.

Yet much to Hamvir's dismay, he could hear the clattering of steel and the hissing of electricity resounding in the distance. It meant only one possible thing. There was a fight. While Ralof bravely charged into the battle, the craven stayed behind the corner that divided him from being in the line of sight of enemies.

He peeked beyond and witnessed there was a torture room. Prison cages were standing in the open and motionless corpses lied within. Not everyone was dead though. There were Imperial soldiers struggling against a group of Stormcloaks, but it was a piece of cake for the rebels that effortlessly put down their adversaries.

The coward observed the skirmish to its end, ensuring that the scene was safe for him to enter.

"Was Jarl Ulfric with you?" Ralof asked his comrades.

"No, I haven't seen him since the dragon showed up," a rebel replied.

"Hey. Why don't you help us next time we fight, huh?" the fair-haired Nord turned to Hamvir.

"I... alright," the craven agreed, though deep in his mind he hoped the opportunity wouldn't arise.

"Fine. Now grab that sword lying on the ground and be ready," Ralof said and Hamvir did as instructed, grasping the blade in his right hand while the left held his pants so that they wouldn't fall off.

They advanced through the prison, navigating a narrow hallway and entering yet another section of the dreary dungeon. They walked past cells and cages filled with mutilated bodies and skeletons, making the coward shudder at the vision of him being there. The prospect of a swift death suddenly seemed so peaceful and calm to him. Perhaps he had been lucky after all, having been scheduled for beheading. But that was a morbid thought.

There was a hole in the wall within the room where they were that led to a cave. The Stormcloaks went in without hesitation yet Hamvir was reluctant. He was afraid that monsters dwelled there.

However, being left alone wasn't a pleasing option either. That is why he eventually chose to follow, navigating the short maze along with his friends until they arrived in another part of the keep through an archway.

It was a spacious room with square stone platforms connected to each other with a bridge. Water was pouring down from the walls next to every one of those, rushing between stones and joining into a river that streamed into a sewer. With edges outlined by wooden railings, the series of rectangular isles curled around the walls like a sleeping snake.

They paced to the end until they exited the chamber. However, they couldn't go forth because the path was barred. A raised drawbridge was before them, preventing them from continuing. Thankfully for them, there was a lever nearby.

Ralof pulled it and the string of planks that the bridge consisted of instantly lowered, allowing them safe passage to the other side. Yet as the two crossed it and emerged into a spacious chamber with another underground river, the ceiling behind them collapsed, blocking their eventual escape route.

"Not going back that way, now," the fair-haired Nord said and continued, entering the stream and wading through it as it led them both into a narrow tunnel. Yet it disconnected from the flow after decades of steps. They carried on nevertheless until Hamvir spotted something terrifying.

Cobwebs were covering the place completely, making him freeze in terror. Ralof didn't know that his comrade had been paralyzed in shock and went on, venturing into a sinister chamber where naturally formed columns were surrounded by thick spider webs. However, the most horrifying of it all were the enormous egg sacs that were scattered around. Those mucous-covered spheres were ruptured, hinting that the creatures that dwelt within were free to roam the caverns.

And indeed, they were there. Leaping from the ceiling and revealing themselves from behind dark corners and openings, a whole bunch of them lashed out at the unsuspecting warrior.

Hamvir was so frightened. He couldn't watch the scene, choosing to retreat slowly to the place where the river and the cavern pathway divided. There, he crouched, closed his eyes and covered them with his hands.

"Help!" Ralof desperately yelled for aid, but the coward wouldn't heed. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to be poisoned by their deadly fangs. He didn't want to be paralyzed, dragged into a damp crevice by the evil beings, weaved into impermeable layers of spider silk. Being left in the void and unable to distinguish his own heartbeat from the ominous steps of the eight-legged horrors encroaching to feast upon him.

"Help me!" the fair-haired Nord screamed. But Hamvir couldn't do it. He was scared. Even though his eyes were closed shut, he could imagine how those monsters pinned Ralof to the ground and tore him apart limb from limb.

He was carried away by that vision for minutes until he finally woke up. There was silence. Deafening silence. It was frightening him. They must have killed the Stormcloak. But he couldn't move now. He couldn't open his eyes. He would surely see the creatures walking around him and he wouldn't contain his urge to scream.

Something touched him! Coldness itself grasped his shoulder!

"No!" he cried out like a little girl.

"Calm down, man," Ralof laughed, prompting Hamvir to rise up and open his eyes.

"What about the spiders? Are they dead?"

"Yes. I've taken care of them."

"Really?" he couldn't believe it.

"Really."

"But you... you yelled help! I thought they would kill you!"

"I could have used a hand, but it doesn't matter. We should continue and get out of here. We're almost at the end, I can feel it."

He was shaking out of fright, but he was convinced that Ralof was speaking the truth somehow. That is why he followed the Stormcloak through the spider lair, spotting those horrifying monsters dead and motionless.

He still shuddered though and wished to get out as soon as possible. Thankfully for him, he could sigh in relief. There was a narrow route that they took and left the place of terror far behind their backs.

They entered a vast room, meeting with the river again. It flowed across until it suddenly disappeared in the middle. Although the cavern was dreary, there was finally a hint of the surface.

Light shined through crevices on the ceiling in a not so distant section of the cave. Even though it seemed to be a reason to rejoice, there was something that halted his cheerful mood. A fearsome beast. A bear.

"Hold up. There's a..." Ralof crouched by the wall, whispering in order to keep the animal fast asleep.

Yet Hamvir was already out of his mind. He screamed in horror, waking the furred creature up. It didn't hesitate to rush to them, rising up on its hind legs before both men could have done anything.

It spread its arms and raised its head in a gesture of dominance, roaring so loudly that the echo ringed in their ears and almost ruptured their eardrums. However, the cowardly Nord wasn't going to stand there and wait until it attacked. He took to his heels.

He ran like mad, not ever stopping, not ever looking behind. He didn't know where he was going, but he hoped that the end was within reach. And it was true. There was a narrow opening through which light shined in.

His steps nearly led him outside, but then he heard a distant howl. It implied that the dragon was still on the loose. Realizing that he was trapped between two monsters, he could only remain and pray.

Minutes had passed and it was hard to tell how long he had been idling, but it didn't matter because his salvation reappeared. It was Ralof. His blue leather armour was ripped to pieces, his face and arms were covered in blood, but he was standing strong.

"Damn you, that almost cost me my life!" he shouted and suddenly lashed out at the coward.

"Wait! I'm your friend!" Hamvir tried to talk some sense to the fair-haired Nord, but it was pointless.

"Really? I was willing to put up with your cowardice, but this is simply too much!" he bellowed, swinging his axes around like a madman.

The craven didn't hesitate for even a single second. He rushed out of the cave without hesitation, finally witnessing the much awaited surface in all its glory. However, now was not the time to rejoice. He had to run for his life.

His clothes were a major hindrance though. With a crazed man chasing after him, he dropped the sword and grasped his pants with both hands so that he wouldn't trip over. Then he took to his heels.

Worse still, the dragon was flying around despite the fact that neither was paying attention to it. Hamvir was sprinting as fast as he could, but he eventually tumbled to the ground and couldn't prevent rolling along the furrowed terrain. He hit every bump, he felt every stone, but at least he disappeared from the road and blended with the environment.

That much couldn't be said for Ralof, however. The airborne beast swooped down on the unsuspecting Nord, grabbing him between its strong jaws and darting away beyond the mountains.

Hamvir survived. He couldn't believe it at first, but it was true. As soon as he managed to stop, he rose up and checked his scratches and bruises. It was nothing, he concluded before sighing out of relief.

He was safe. No headsman holding an axe above his head. No Imperial soldiers trying to plunge a sword into his chest. No spiders wishing to poison him. No bear intent on feeding him to its cubs. No dragon determined to tear him apart. And last but not least, no rebel wanting to kill him after all the ordeal.

He was free to do as he pleased. He was free to roam the lush plains of Skyrim. But what would he do with this newly gained liberty? The land wasn't particularly known for its hospitability. It was a mystery seemingly without solution, but perhaps there was an answer... Yet that leaves for a completely different tale.


	2. Chapter 2

Or perhaps not so different tale. He didn't really get far for trouble. Perhaps he was a magnet for ill fate, which was ironic considering his poor ability to defend himself, incorporating running and screaming.

Wolves. They smelled his fear ever since he left those wretched caverns. They had been following him, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. That was now. Just by a few stones next to the road, they had been preying on him until he arrived.

Their hostile growls immediately warned him of the trap that had sprung, but it was too late. They encircled him, expecting his move. Like skilled pack hunters, they wanted to test their victim if it wasn't too strong for them.

Yet their tiny and little minds have miscalculated the situation completely. Not only did Hamvir lack the intention to fight, he panicked the moment he realized what was truly happening.

Their animosity was growing, making them roar in that second of suspense. He had been frozen in terror, but this woke him up. He shuddered in fright, his knees shaking so madly that he hardly kept balance.

"Help!" he yelled like a girl and continued to scream as he took to his heels, holding his baggy clothes with his hands. Never before had he run so fast in his life. Yet the wolves followed. They wouldn't want to let their prey vanish.

His lungs were working at full capacity, yet it wasn't sufficient. He felt lightheaded and dazed. They couldn't pump enough oxygen into his brain and he thought he would faint in the next second.

However, that wasn't what he wished. He wished to live another day. Getting torn apart by those canine beasts would be an insult from fate itself, considering that he had escaped a death snare not long ago. That is why he continued his flight despite his wheezing breath and aching legs.

Fortunately, the walling of a village appeared in the distance. His salvation. He rejoiced briefly, doubling his effort, but his happiness was short-lived. A wolf lunged at him, sinking its fangs into his bottom.

"Argh!" Hamvir grunted in pain.

It hurt like Oblivion, but he couldn't stop. A terrible monster stuck in his arse or not, he wasn't going to become the prey for a pack of feral creatures. He ran screaming through an arch made of stone walls and wooden bridge over them.

The guards posted there immediately took arrows from their quivers, shooting at the bunch of canines as they darted inside the village. These beasts were locked in a tunnel vision and the coward was propelled by self-preservation and this duo caused havoc throughout the settlement known as Riverwood.

"Get it off me!" the craven yelled, dodging stray projectiles with the wolf drilled deep into his skin.

There were many onlookers of the strange show. Strong Nords capable of putting those intruders down in a single swing. However, they were amused by the coward running and screaming with an animal holding onto his bottom.

Thankfully for Hamvir, it was brought to an end when the creature's grip loosened and the growling and barking ceased altogether. He finally stopped, exhausted to the point of fainting. He didn't even feel the pain of the wound.

As he was catching breath, he looked up to the crowd gathered in front of him. They were a collection of villagers, most of them trying hard to hide their laughter. There was one particular woman that didn't grin though.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"I... I believe so," Hamvir thought, being still shocked and unable to realize the bite in his arse.

"What did happen? Why were those wolves chasing after you?"

"I got... I got from Helgen. There was a dragon!"

"A dragon?" some of the townsfolk were amazed by hearing the word. "That's what Hilda said. One more to the nuthouse!"

The locals quickly began losing their interest in this strange occurrence, dispersing the gathering and heading to work. However, the woman remained. There was a genuine worry in her eyes. She seemed to actually believe him.

"A dragon? In Helgen?"

"Yes. I barely made it out alive. There was this guy, Ralof I think. He helped me and then... the wolves caught up with me and..."

"Ralof? You know my brother? Where is he now?"

"I... err... he said he had to join the rebels or something," Hamvir lied. So he had managed to bring doom to this woman's sibling? Best if he remained quiet about it, he concluded. He didn't want to end up running with an agitated crowd in his back.

She sighed. "Well, at least he is alright. This dragon thing... explains what I saw earlier... thank Talos he made it in one piece. But if these beasts are real, the Jarl needs to know there's one on the loose. Riverwood is defenceless.

We need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun to send whatever soldiers he can. If you'll do that for us, we'll be forever in your debt."

"Travelling?" the coward immediately realized his recent ordeal and feared for his life. "You want me to walk across the road and go to Whiterun?"

"You would be noble and kind."

"But what if... ouch!" the craven felt the wound reminding him of itself. It didn't hurt that much though. He was a pansy, exaggerating each of his ails. "I need a healer. Is there a healer somewhere?"

"You could try Lucan. He owns a shop just nearby. You can't miss the sign. He may have a healing potion or two."

"But I've got a torn arse! How can a healing potion sew it together?!"

"It does wonders. When I was a child and strayed into the mountains, I tripped and tumbled down. I broke every rib in my body, but when I drank the potion, I became as healthy as ever."

"I don't believe a word of it," Hamvir didn't trust this charlatan medicine, hunching like an old man due to the pain.

"Well then, there's a healer in Whiterun..."

"A healer in Whiterun," he repeated, not liking the sound of it. So he had to go there. The only alternative was to drink some fancy liquid. On second thought, it sounded acceptable. That way, he didn't have to travel and the chances of stumbling upon a hungry and carnivorous wolf were dim.

"Yes. A healer in Whiterun."

"I'll try the trader."

"Good luck. And don't forget about Whiterun!"

Don't forget, he ironically whispered. Of course he would forget. Intentionally. Nobody was going to get him there.

He spotted the sign like the woman had told, his hopes lit. He limped as swiftly as his exaggeration of the wound allowed him, opening the door. Suddenly, blackish fog engulfed his mind and in this odd blindness, he saw an image of a troll and words echoed in his head. They spoke of it being able to regenerate health yet being susceptible to fire.

It was a bizarre occurrence, vanishing as fast as it had appeared. But he didn't care. All that mattered was to get healed. Thankfully for him, there was the trader behind the counter. He looked pretty annoyed, sporting a wide conical hat just like the gondoliers in Morrowind did.

"Welcome to my shop!" he put on a fake grimace of happiness. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"I need a healing potion."

"A healing potion? Hmm, it so happens that I have one in stock," he spoke as he crouched and searched the counter, emerging with a red vial in his hand. "That would be twenty gold pieces please."

Twenty gold pieces. Where on Nirn was he supposed to get those?

"Err... could you..."

"Could I what?"

"You know... give it for free?"

"Are you kidding me?" the man frowned. "Of course not!"

"Um... would you accept my outfit then?"

"This junk that's holding together by wishful thinking? No way! And don't even consider putting a basket on my head! It won't work anymore!"

He would never have imagined that, but now that he had mentioned it, Hamvir wondered whether the kettle in the fireplace was large enough to surpass the size of the shopkeeper's headgear.

"No, the kettle won't do it either! I've made sure my hat is the widest thing in whole Skyrim!"

So there went his chance of getting rid of the pain. Limping and broken, he departed from the shop, feeling the unforgiving coldness in the air battering his face. What was he supposed to do? Go to Whiterun and risk being eaten by feral wolves? It seemed so.

**QQQ**

He followed the road, keeping close to it. He treaded lightly, listening to every rustle and running back for a while once he heard a suspicious noise. His fright made him want to reach the safe confines of Riverwood, but his ache commanded him to continue. It was a dilemma, but it always resulted in getting nearer to his goal.

Eventually, he arrived at a winding road alongside a waterfall. Within the distance, there were windmills and houses outside the old and fabled walls of the once proud city of Whiterun. That was his target.

He was so blinded by the closeness of his destination that he completely forgot to be wary and that was a terrible mistake. Just as the meandering path straightened and he was descending down towards two bridges, he noticed a group of people nearby.

There were three men. Two of them were Imperial soldiers, the other one was a prisoner. Most likely a Stormcloak prisoner. He realized the horrible fact too late though. He was dressed in rebel armour.

They spotted him instantly, drawing their swords. They didn't speak, yet their faces were telling it all. Anger. Bloodlust. Worse still, he had no weapon. He was helpless against them. He could only lament silently. Why he? Why it was always him who attracted so much bad luck?

"What are you doing here?" they asked him intimidatingly, their steps bringing them dangerously close.

Hamvir was retreating slowly, fright having taken over him. He was shaking like mad and his fear was apparent from miles away. He actually began sobbing. "Don't hurt me, please. I survived everything, everything really. I don't want to die."

They glared at him in disbelief. Was that excuse for a man true? Wasn't he an illusion? First he dared to show the Stormcloak uniform in front of them and now he begged for mercy? It made no sense to them.

"You are a traitor to the Empire," one of the soldiers replied, but the craven didn't let him finish.

"Traitor? No! I'm not a traitor! A rebel made me wear it! I swear! I escaped from Helgen! There was a dragon! He almost ate me! Ate us all! That rebel told me to don the armour so that I survive! I'm not a Stormcloak! I'm actually an Imperial sympathiser! I support your cause! I mean it!"

To them, Hamvir seemed like a schizophrenic. They gave each other a look, wondering what sort of an idiot they had met. Even the prisoner stood there with mouth agape. Was such a coward possible? He was, apparently.

It wasn't worth prosecuting this madman, they eventually concluded. "Just get out of our sight."

"I will, I certainly will. Thank you!" he showed gratitude as he grasped his belt and ran as fast as his wound allowed him. When he arrived at the crossroad with two bridges, he read the signs and took a turn to the left, then he continued.

He might have been fleeing for minutes already. Yet his profession of a trouble magnet wasn't at its end. As soon as he got past a farm field outlined by a short stone wall, he sensed distant shaking of the ground.

Fear prevented him from seeking the source, but it was unnerving him each second because it was growing stronger and stronger. He gave in to curiosity shortly afterwards, glancing back and seeing the horror.

There was a giant rushing his way, leaning a huge club against his shoulder. He was sprinting much faster than Hamvir was, but the craven didn't stop. He couldn't unless he wanted death.

Yet no matter how swift he was, his effort was hopeless. The monster was drawing in without mercy. He imagined how it would swing its weapon and crush him, making a pile of flesh and bones out of him. It was a horrifying thought.

Just a few steps divided him from that fate. And the distance was shortening each second. His heartbeat was uncontrollable, his breath harder and harder to maintain. He ignored his pain completely.

It wasn't enough, however. The giant was an arm's length away. Merely a while remained, the craven calculated. Accepting his doom but unable to prevent tears, he ceased his efforts.

Yet the giant carried on, passing by like the wind itself. He gazed at him in disbelief, noticing two warriors miss him and chase after the creature. It was unbelievable, he thought. He laughed a bit. How foolish he was. Of course the giant wasn't intending to crush him like an insect. Who on Nirn could have been even considering that? They are peaceful beings, not marauders.

As things calmed down and dust in the air served as the remainder of his recent ordeal, he turned his sight towards the walls of Whiterun. There dwelt his salvation. He merely had to reach it.

He couldn't wait to get his bottom healed. The pain quickly reminded him of itself, putting an end to his rest and prompting him to get a move on. The city gates weren't that far and he arrived at them within a short while.

However, there were guards obstructing his way, keeping a watchful eye over the tightly sealed entrance. "Halt, city's closed with the dragons about. Official business only."

"Official business? But I am here with official business! I'm seriously wounded and need a healer!"

"I'm sorry. That isn't official business."

"Gods! I've seen dragons, I've escaped wolves and now I was supposed to risk my hide by informing the Jarl! I just need a healer!"

The guard seemed deep in thought. Was he actually reaching for his weapon, annoyed by the insolence of Hamvir's harshness? The craven instantly cowered in fear, yet as the soldier merely scratched a sore spot on his back, he sighed in relief.

"That changes things. Why didn't you tell earlier?" the uniformed individual said, signalling his comrade to open the gate. The way was thus clear and he went in without hesitation.

He stood at a wide paved road. There were a number of houses made of wood and stone by the sides of the pathway. However, he didn't care about anything besides getting rid of the ache in his bottom.

"Where is the healer in here!" he yelled, but it seemed that there was nobody listening. The town was living its own bustling existence, easily deafening his plea.

He felt like an alien. There were playing children, there was a smith hard at work with her hammer and there were loudly debating people. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but it wasn't what he wished for.

In amidst the usual chaos, a fair haired Nord with a long and thin beard approached him. He was dressed in Imperial armour, which woke tension in Hamvir's feeble mind. And the fact that he was a big bunch of muscles didn't ease it a bit.

"Gray-Mane or Battle-Born?"

"What? Hmm. Battle-Mane?" he uttered swiftly, hoping to be done with this fast and seek a healer.

"Is this funny to you?" the haughty warrior was aggravated. "Is it? Tell me why I shouldn't break every bone in your body for your insolence!"

"Idolaf, let that fool be, he's so scared that he can barely look at you," the smith stood for the craven.

However, it seemed that the strong man didn't want to back off. Instead, he stepped in as close as possible, glaring straight into the eyes of the coward, who was shuddering in terror.

"I didn't mean it, I... I'm your best friend!" he attempted to mend the situation, but it was to no avail.

"Cross me again and you won't like it," the Nord threatened him and then stormed off.

Hamvir stood there for a while, shaking off the shock. It took him a whole minute until he was ready to sense his pain and do something about it.

"Thanks," he spoke to the smith, his voice fluctuating, showing that he wasn't properly recovered from the encounter yet. "Do you know where can I find a healer?"

"A healer? Oh well, try the temple, it's not far from here..." she gave him the directions and he gladly followed, entering the building devoted to Kynareth where the wounded were lying in agony. At that moment, however, he could care less about the gods or those unfortunate around.

"I need help!" he shouted.

"Help? What help?" a woman in a cloak replied worriedly, immediately rushing to Hamvir.

"A wolf bit me."

"A wolf? Where?"

Although he felt pain, the embarrassment that woke inside him was stronger. Did he really want to show the world his arse?

"In the... erm..." he stuttered.

"Where?" she wondered.

"Uh... it's not... not that easy," Hamvir babbled.

"By Kynareth, I can help you, but you must be willing."

He stood there frozen in indecision. It hurt. But he could taste the humiliation. What was he to do?

"Alright," he uttered swiftly before he could make up his mind.

"Good. Then please show me the wound so I can heal you."

"On second thought, I think I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Eh... no, I'm not," the pain won again.

"So why are you preventing me from doing my job?"

"I'm not preventing you."

"You are."

"Prove it."

She sighed. "Just show me the wound already!"

"Alright!" he grasped his belt, but that was the only thing he did.

"So?" she was growing impatient.

"A second," he replied yet remained motionlessly still.

"Damn it, will you do it or not?!"

"No... I mean, yes! Wait. A moment. Simply a very very short moment!" his consciousness was struggling between the risk of embarrassment and the risk of limping forever.

However, she got tired of the hesitating man, casting a spell to bring down his trousers and reveal the incriminating evidence to everyone around. A heart with the word mommy in the centre. Everybody began laughing maniacally, even the mortally wounded. Never had Hamvir been more humiliated.

He felt that those grinning grimaces would remain indefinitely. Yet before he knew it, the healer was done and his pants rose back up, covering his tattoo. He didn't realize it though, or at least not immediately.

"It was a flesh wound. Nothing special. I sealed it and it's okay now. No sign of it whatsoever. Not a scar."

"Umm, thank you," he mumbled as the echoes of laughter resounded in his ears and the people around him still watched him. He stormed off the temple without hesitation, wishing that this had never happened.

However, there was no undoing the past because he lacked an elder scroll. He indeed yearned to have one, but how could such a coward gain possession of it? That was simply unimaginable.

As he slammed the door behind him and ran as fast as he could, a guard passing by noticed. He was a depressed and sad man, having nobody to talk to, longing for somebody to pour his worries and troubles on. "Hey! Wait! I want to tell you that I used to be an adventurer like you!" he yelled after Hamvir, but the craven disappeared behind the nearest corner within a second.

The coward stopped in the middle of the market, realizing that there were lots confused faces gazing directly at him. His behaviour certainly wasn't the most natural thing in the world.

Yet they weren't there for sightseeing. They had jobs that barely kept them afloat and they had to devote themselves fully to them. Customers were hard to come by, especially due to the rumours of dragons.

He ignored the shouting of the shopkeepers at their booths, witnessing that there was a tall woman in front of him. Judging by the exasperation readable from her grimace, she wasn't content that he had been gaping at her without knowing it, having been in shock from the recent embarrassment.

"What's the matter? Can't stand the sight of a strong Nord woman?" she spoke in an annoyed tone.

Hamvir was a man. He wasn't the most powerful warrior in Tamriel, but he was a man and no woman should dare to brag around him. It was an instinct dwelling deep within his timid mind.

"You, a strong Nord woman? Haha, I could beat you any day of the week!" he laughed at her.

"Like Oblivion you could!" she frowned, her anger reaching the boiling point. She punched him in the belly swiftly and efficiently, causing him to bend over in pain and hold his stomach. She bashed him in the face next, the hit being so hard that it knocked him to the ground.

He sobbed as he curled on the pavement, whimpering about his grazes and bruises. However, he actually felt blood on the back of his head, prompting him to rise up and run towards the temple.

The guard had already caught up with him, having witnessed the whole mess and figured out that Hamvir wasn't the right guy to confess to. Disappointed and broken, he returned to his post by the temple.

The craven emerged from the building shortly afterwards, feeling much more relaxed this time. Although he had to undergo another mockery from those inside, he was healed once again and was to full strength, though that wasn't particularly much because he was a weakling.

The soldier spotted him, seeing only his back and not knowing who it was. "I used to be..." he started, hoping that he had found a soul that would understand. Yet then he realized that it was none other than Hamvir. "On second thought, no. I didn't use to be like you, but I did take an arrow in the knee nevertheless."

The coward couldn't tell whether the guard was talking to him, but he didn't wish to get a new set of bruises so he didn't turn around and reply. Instead, he retreated behind the nearest corner so that nobody could see him and hurt him.

There, he thought what to do next. He could certainly live out of harm's way, but how would he procure food? That question troubled him deeply, but there seemed to be a solution within grasp.

The Jarl. If he warned him about the dragon attack on Helgen, perhaps there would be a reward. Perhaps he could get famous. That vision blinded him, making him forget about his past troubles instantly. He was a person that would never learn.

He didn't know where to seek the man, but he concluded that it must have been somewhere within the keep standing mightily atop the whole town for all to admire its grandeur.

Without further hesitation, he began his ascent, trying to avoid the townsfolk. He managed to do quite fine, reaching steps that were leading him towards the magnificent structure. He met a few guards along the way, but that was it.

He couldn't see their faces beneath the masks they were wearing, but he felt that they were observing him closely. Almost as if he was an alien. An intruder with vile intentions. He didn't dare to speak at all in their presence.

It didn't take him long and he arrived at the front doors. They were made of wood, but that didn't mean they were easy to open. They were large and that proved to be a problem for the weakling. He pushed hard, pressing his whole body against them, but they moved merely an inch.

"Come on!" Hamvir lamented, but even his command didn't help. Only when somebody from inside aided him did he finally get in, almost falling as he didn't expect that and had been leaning against them.

He was in the great hall where a carpet surrounded by strong pillars on both sides led towards steps beyond which two oblong tables were along with a fireplace between them. Not far after that was the throne where the Jarl was sitting by those he trusted. However, Hamvir's eyes were immediately caught by the grandly sized skull above it. Could it have been the head of a dragon? He shuddered at the thought.

It was truly a breathtaking sight, but he wasn't allowed to gaze at it uninterrupted for long. The one who had opened the door was a red haired dark elf woman in heavy armour, holding a sword in her hand. She had sensed a threat, but as soon as she spotted the sad excuse for a Nord, she sheathed her weapon.

"What in Oblivion are you doing here? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors!"

"I... I came to warn the Jarl that Riverwood is in danger. A dragon has destroyed Helgen and nearly killed me as well!"

"Alright. You may talk to the Jarl, but no fancy moves... not that you would be capable of doing so anyway."

Hamvir felt insulted by the woman, but seeing as she had a blade in her possession and was apparently a skilled fighter, he didn't dare tempt the fates. Instead, he approached the fair haired man with a golden crown atop his head lazily sitting on the throne.

"So what's this Riverwood in danger about?" the leader of Whiterun instantly wondered, having heard the short debate from afar.

"There was a Dragon in Helgen. I wanted a sweet roll, but the Imperials arrested me for than. Then they wanted to decapitate me, but the dragon appeared and it somehow saved my life."

"Hmm, that sounds strange. So you say the dragon is actually a friend?"

"No, no! It ate a lot of people and set fire to the rest, I survived because another guy helped me. He got taken by the dragon in the end. I made it to Riverwood and this woman told me to go here and warn you and ask for soldiers."

"Well, your words hardly make sense to me, but if I get it, then there is a dragon on the loose. By Ismir, Ireleth was right!" he was angered, turning to a bald man with a moustache next to the throne. "What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust the strength of our walls against a dragon?"

"My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once," the Dunmer said.

"Send a detachment to Riverwood immediately," Balgruuf replied briskly.

"Yes, my lord," the woman responded and made off in an instant.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll return to my duties," the moustached individual spoke.

"That would be best," the Jarl commented and thus the small circle dispersed completely, leaving only them and two guards, who were silent. Although the Dunmer wasn't present, he was unnerved. Facing the single most influential man in Whiterun directly and practically alone wasn't particularly relaxing.

"Well done, you sought me on your own initiative. You've done Whiterun a service and I won't forget it," the man actually showed gratitude much to the craven's excitement.

So there might have been a reward waiting for him after all! He couldn't get enough of the visions of fame and fortune. Hamvir the Hero. Hamvir the Saviour! No longer would the world know him as Hamvir the Coward.

"Here, take this as a small token of my esteem," the Jarl continued, taking a steel cuirass out of nowhere and handing it to the thin Nord, who accepted the gift, his whole body almost collapsing under the weight of the heavy armour that he had received.

"Thank you," he struggled to speak a word as he was trying to maintain his breath despite carrying the burden of metal.

"There is another thing you could do for me. Suitable for someone of your talents, perhaps? Come, let's go find Farengar, my court wizard."

"Alright," Hamvir agreed, not knowing what mess he was about to get into. Together, they went past one of the tables, heading left into a much smaller room. There, a strange man in a blue cloak stood, carefully observing both the Jarl and the craven.

"Farengar, I think I've found somebody who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill him with all the details."

"Wait, a dragon project?" the coward exclaimed in horror.

"No worries, you'll handle it just fine," Balgruuf replied, disappearing within the great hall and leaving the two to debate.

"So the Jarl thinks you could be of use to me? He must be referring to my research. Yes, I could use someone like you to fetch something for me."

Fetch. That didn't sound hard.

"Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there."

"Dangerous...? I... But I don't want to get killed!" the craven protested.

Farengar shook his head in disbelief. "I was just kidding. It's easy. Just an empty crypt called the Bleak Falls Barrow. No undead whatsoever. No powerful Nord remnants. No carnivorous spiders. It's a walk in the park. A sightseeing tour. You'll learn some history and culture and get rich. And famous. That's right. There's so much treasure there. It's basically free. Just remember to fetch me the stone tablet. Now, what do you say?"

"I don't know," Hamvir was unsure. He was scared of dark and damp places, but the notion of becoming renowned so easily was a tempting offer.

"Come on. It's easy. It's a simple tomb in the mountains near Riverwood. A miserable village few miles south. You can't miss it. So what can go wrong? It's probably waiting for you to discover. Think of the wealth you could amass."

"Alright then."

"Great. Best be on your way. Good luck."

**QQQ**

His back was starting to ache from carrying the cuirass around, but thankfully the smith took it happily off his possession, giving him enough money to buy warm clothes. He had been growing annoyed with constant faltering and this new outfit was like heavens. It seemed that he had almost forgotten how it felt not to be dressed in armour twice his size.

He could afford a dagger, just in case something went wrong, though he hoped fate wouldn't force his hand. He didn't know how to use the weapon properly and the chances of hurting himself were greater than hurting someone else.

Nevertheless, he was inspired by the promise of glory and riches, setting off immediately. He had apparently ignored his troubles during travels, walking around the countryside confidently.

He held his breath in awe as he laid his eyes upon the supposed tomb. It was more like a mountain fortress with its snow-covered walls and giant arches standing mightily and defying the wheels of time.

It certainly woke respect in his mind. Who knew what shadows might have been lurking within? What past was concealed in the depths of its catacombs? He could only wonder and imagine.

However, as he was drawing near, the snow was getting more aggressive along with the unsettling wind. Even the fur of his clothing proved to be lacking in protection, letting the merciless cold to sink its chilling teeth deep beneath his skin.

He was shuddering, but the vision of wealth warmed him during that moment, allowing him to overcome the inhospitality and tread the steps leading to the insides of the dungeon that dug into the mountain.

Yet as he reached the top of the first flight of stairs, he noticed a scantily clad individual with a leather skirt and two crossed belts covering his naked chest. He had a sledgehammer and his appearance wasn't particularly welcoming.

It was obvious that Hamvir would fall head over heels into the abyss of fright, yet before he could make a run for it without being seen, the brute started marching straight towards him, sneezing every once in a while due to his lack of clothes.

In desperation, the craven unsheathed the dagger, holding it with both of his shaking hands.

"Who are you pointing that toothpick at?" the thug laughed at him from afar, prompting the coward to drop it, freezing in terror on the spot. It was an inexplicable reaction that allowed the bandit to approach him at close range.

He was at the barbarian's mercy. Merely a single swing of the mighty weapon and the frail Nord would be reduced to a pile of blood and meat. He shuddered, his teeth chattering during the fateful moment.

"What are you doing here?" the man asked intimidatingly, gazing straight into Hamvir's eyes and inducing even more horror in him.

"I... I don't mean any harm. I just... I just got lost."

"Really?" he inquired and sneezed right after that.

"Really, I swear. I went the wrong way and got lost. That's true. I got lost."

"Hmm. You chose a bad time to get lost, friend," the thug responded, grasping his weapon firmly.

The craven knew what was about to happen. That is why he didn't wait for a single second and took to his heels.

However, things weren't playing exactly in his favour. Arrows darted by him, missing him by mere inches. His heartbeat rate jumped up instantly, making him figure out that running out in the open was suicidal. That is why he dashed down and rushed along the walls.

He could hear angry yells from above as the thugs tried to find their best way to reach him. And as he was engulfed in the haze of panic, he couldn't see their tiny brains were facing a great dilemma.

The craven was so close to them, yet so far. They couldn't get to him even though he was a metre away, not taking height into account. But it seemed that these bandits didn't know what it meant, taking the daring steps one by one and falling to their doom.

Hamvir didn't realize at first, but as he heard a third grunting noise and a hulking brute almost crushed him with his weight, he figured out something wasn't right. He stopped briefly, using the moment to catch breath and look up.

There was an archer situated on the edge of the wall, taking aim and walking sideways inexplicably. However, that sideways move also led him a bit forward, causing him to slip and tumble down with a shriek. The coward barely dodged him, watching the body hit the rocks and roll down the mountain.

So Hamvir survived. He didn't understand how that was possible, perhaps nature gifted them with lack of intelligence. Or perhaps he was wrong and Divines were to blame. Or maybe it was incorrect altogether and there were beings responsible that were way above the gods, way above Anu and Padomay.

His inner debate came to an abrupt halt though, because another group of skirmishers were approaching him. He could see them from afar and they could see him. The moment of respite was at its end.

He wanted to run, but suddenly they yelled at him from the distance. "That was a great battle! How you singlehandedly outsmarted those bandits! You're a damn fine man! Worth a general's seat! We're adventurers and came to plunder this dungeon! Care to join us? We could surely use a crafty and cunning warrior like you!"

At first, he thought of declining the offer and getting out of there, but seeing as their numbers counted to ten at least, he nodded, concluding that they would protect him and he would reap the reward.

And so he became a part of the group, laughing and patting each other on the shoulder like there was no fear. However, Hamvir was genuinely afraid, his fright multiplying all the more as they approached the eerily decorated black doors made of stone.

They opened them afterwards and it felt as if thousands of forgotten ghosts poured out of the gate, almost making the craven faint. Grand adventure was awaiting them, but would the coward pull through? Or would he chicken out? That was a question that plagued most Daedric Princes that observed his progress from the depths of Oblivion. Indeed, none were in possession of the answer.


End file.
